Nobody's Watching You
by The Raisin Girl
Summary: Nobody sees Kurt Hummel's daily struggle. Nobody cares. Nobody wants to help. Warning: gore, multiple character deaths, violence, and suspense. CH 2: Azimio thought he'd found a real friend, but now he's lost that and he doesn't know how to deal.
1. Nobody seems to notice

**Chapter One: Nobody seems to notice**

Dave Karofsky stared down the hall into a pair of wide, terrified blue eyes and grinned wickedly. He loved the rush it gave him to have power over someone else; it was a sensual thrill, coiled in the pit of his stomach like a snake waiting to strike. Afterwards, he always experienced a giddy high only a little tinged with shame. With this particular victim, however, the shame could be staved off indefinitely. He could ride the wave of Kurt Hummel's bruises and tears all day, because he told himself the fairy fucking deserved it.

He bore down on the boy, grabbing him by the lapels of his expensive coat and pulling him close—chests bumping for only an instant—before shoving him roughly away. He did it in one smooth motion, without missing a beat. It was like a dance, and he'd perfected every step. As he walked away, he turned to scowl his disapproval at the boy huddled on the floor, fighting off tears. He fought the smile that twitched his lips at the sight of his handiwork. The high carried him down the hall and through the rest of his monotonous daily routine, relaxing his shoulders and putting a confidence in his step that he couldn't seem to feel any other way.

* * *

><p>Nobody notices as the angel-faced boy in the fashionable jacket picks himself up off the floor. Nobody watches him take deep, steadying breaths to keep his tears from overflowing. Nobody would reach out and comfort him if he knew how, but he doesn't. There's only one way Nobody knows to show the way he feels. Tonight, David Karofsky is going to pay.<p>

* * *

><p>"Anybody home?" Dave called in a tired voice as he unlocked the front door and stepped inside the dark house. The curtains were pulled, diffusing the sunlight and casting everything dimly in grey, broken shadows. He flicked on the hall light and tossed his backpack and gym bag at the foot of the stairs, grunting as the soreness in his muscles from football practice made itself known at the sudden release of extra weight. As usual, no one was home.<p>

Moving through the house, he flipped every light switch until the shadows were somewhat dispelled, and turned the television on for some background noise. His parents were working late, as usual, and his sister took piano lessons after school, catching a ride home with her teacher. Even the dog seemed to have slunk off somewhere, probably sunbathing or digging in the neighbor's yard. Dave hated the first couple of hours after he got home; the house was too dark, too quiet, to big and empty without his family in it. It left too much room in his head for thinking, something he avoided at all costs unless absolutely necessary. For Dave, especially recently, there was no distinction whatsoever between thinking and thinking too much.

He grabbed a soda from the fridge and plopped on the couch, channel-surfing aimlessly before landing on Cartoon Network. He knew he should do his homework, but it was too quiet an activity to do in the empty house. Even if he shut his bedroom door and turned on some music; there was just something eerie about knowing there were all those empty rooms around you, separated from you by nothing but wood and sheet rock. He shuddered, and tried to focus on the bright colors and loud noises of whatever was on the television. He must have been more tired than he thought, because the next thing he knew he was waking up to the sound of his mother coming in the front door.

"Hey, Davey," she said, smiling. He sat up groggily and gave her a sleepy grin.

"Hey Ma. How's work?"

"The usual. Too much to do and not enough time to do it in. Did you let Moony out when you got home?" Dave looked at her, confused.

"I didn't see Moony when I got home. I figured you or Dad had let him out this morning." His mother frowned.

"No…when I left he was still inside. And your father left before me."

"Oh. Well, maybe Shelby forgot to bring him inside last night." His mother rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated sigh.

"That girl. I swear. Shelby!" His mother stomped up the stairs, leaving her briefcase in a pile with Dave's things at the foot, calling after his sister. Dave groaned and fell back on the couch. His head ached and he had that gross feeling from sleeping in his clothes. He cracked his neck and stretched, then got up and wandered into the kitchen, intent on helping his mom start dinner.

"Moo-ooom, seriously! I swear, I didn't forget. I brought Moony in right before I went to bed!" He heard his sister whining her way down the stairs, and smirked. No one was buying that one; Shelby was notoriously forgetful. Their dad joked that she'd lose her head if it wasn't attached. Dave grimaced; what a morbid image.

"David!" His sister appeared at the entryway to the kitchen as he laid out the peppers and tomatoes. "Did you tell mom I forgot to let Moony in? You jerk, I did not!"

Dave ignored her. There was no arguing with Shelby. She would swear up and down she'd put her homework in her backpack, rant and rave about no one believing her, and then try to sidestep their knowing glances two days later when she found it somewhere entirely _other _than the place she was "so sure" she put it. Pointing this out whenever it occurred never did much to improve her mood, and it certainly didn't stop her whining. So he just stayed quiet.

"Ugh! Of all the brothers in the world, I had to get stuck with you, you Neanderthal!" Ouch. That stung. Why did people keep calling him that? He was big for his age, sure—broad-shouldered and tall—and maybe his brow was a _little _prominent. But he was hardly a cave man. He tried to shrug it off. Hummel probably called him that just to get some of his own back, and his sister…well, she could be a little bitch sometimes, but in his weird way Dave doted on her, so he guessed he didn't mind what she called him. Still. Ouch.

It took him a moment to realize she had stormed off, banging through the screen door and onto the sun porch that opened out into the back yard. He shook his head indulgently and went back to chopping up the peppers in front of him. He had finished, and had started the tomatoes and peppers stewing, when he heard his little sister scream.

He dropped the stirring spoon he was holding and went tearing out into the back yard, following the sound of her screams. Normally he would just put this kind of thing down to her being a hysterical preteen, but this wasn't an I-just-saw-a-spider kind of scream, or even an I-just-got-stung-by-a-wasp kind of scream. Shelby was shrieking her head off, and as he cleared the sun porch he could discern that she was crying, too, and that there were probably words in all the noise she was making, but he couldn't understand them. He didn't see her in the yard; it sounded like she was in the woods. He headed in that direction, speeding up when her screams choked off.

He found her back in the woods a little ways, near the tree they'd built their tree house in. She was sitting curled up in a ball, back against a fallen log, staring at something on the tree, by the ladder that led up to the tree house. Something small, and furry, and…

_Oh…God. Oh my God. _Dave suddenly felt like he was going to be sick.

It was Moony, emphasis on _was. _The little dog had been gutted by _something; _its neck twisted around and its big eyes staring grotesquely, face set in a paroxysm of pain. And someone had nailed it to the side of the tree.

Dave swallowed back the urge to vomit and edged closer to his sister, trying to get to her without stepping on the bloody ground around the tree. He reached her side eventually, and grasped her by her arms, pulling her up and into a hug, hiding her face in his shirt to keep her from seeing the dog again. Her shoulders shook, and he could feel her tears soaking through the thin fabric already. Without a word he walked her back toward the house, stumbling a little because they refused to let go of each other. He sat her down at the kitchen table just as their mother came down the stairs, scowling.

"David, what on earth was your sister screaming abou—" she stopped when she saw the looks on her children's faces. They both looked shell shocked and a little nauseous.

"What happened?" She asked flatly. Dave looked at Shelby. She didn't look like she could open her mouth without bursting into fresh tears. He swallowed hard and turned to his mother.

"W-we found…we found Moony. He was in the woods…" he trailed off, unable to describe the grisly scene again. Someone had killed his dog and nailed it to their tree. He suddenly felt cold all over, scared.

His mother didn't seem to understand.

"Well, bring him inside and then wash your hands so you can help me finish up the marinara sauce for dinner."

At the thought of marinara sauce, Dave's stomach finally rebelled. He jumped up and ran, barely making it to the bathroom before retching up the contents of his stomach as he tried to drown out the sound of his sister sobbing as she tried to tell her mother what he'd meant.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: This random plotbunny entered my mind today and just wouldn't let go. It is quite different from anything else I've written. Don't expect any warm, fluffy feelings from this one, kittens. This is a completely different animal. It will probably run about 20-30 chapters, and be updated once a week or so. Thanks for reading!<strong>

**-The Raisin Girl**


	2. Nobody really cares

**Chapter Two: Nobody really cares**

If you've never had a slushie to the face when you weren't expecting it—and really, who is _ever _expecting that?—you might not understand why the small, pale boy in the angora sweater was crying so hard as he pushed his way through the throng of students in the hall toward the girl's bathroom. Then again, unless your first slushie was accompanied by nearly a decade's worth of loneliness, pain, public humiliation, and torment from your peers, you probably wouldn't understand Kurt Hummel's tears even then.

But Nobody understands. He watches from his safe place, out of sight, as the boy tries to clean blue liquid from his face, his hair, and his beautiful designer clothes. He grimaces in sympathy when Kurt's face screws up in disgust at the feel of the sticky debris dripping into the waistband of his jeans. Nobody wants to reach out and say something to make it better, but he knows there's really nothing to say. So he determines to do instead.

* * *

><p>Azimio Adams is not a monster. Sure, he can be an asshole sometimes, especially toward those he considers lower on the food chain at school. He is most certainly a bully, and even a bit of a homophobe. But the thing that's easy for those who quail under his glare to forget? He's still just a kid. He's seventeen, and he's still growing up. In a few years, he'll probably be a much nicer person. When he's in college, and his best friend finally comes out, he'll maybe understand. He'll look back and regret all the things he did and said to Kurt Hummel and his friends, and he'll even admit to himself that most of it was done out of insecurity.<p>

Well, assuming he gets through high school in the first place. Which isn't looking so good right now, because Azimio Adams is standing over the sink in his bathroom at home, staring at himself and hating what he sees, thinking of the gun he knows his father keeps in a box in the hall closet. Thinking it would be so much simpler, so much better for everyone, if he just took the damn thing, put it to his temple, and pulled the trigger.

Not that anyone he knew had said anything. In fact, they didn't even seem to notice anything was wrong. Of course, this just confirmed for him that nobody would give a damn if he were just…gone. Azimio didn't know what he hated more: feeling this way, or being too much of a coward to put an end to it. Because that's what he was: a coward. A pathetic, scared jerk, a waste of space. He hadn't always felt this way, but he couldn't remember that far back. Maybe he wouldn't always feel this way, but he couldn't see that far ahead. All he had was this moment in time, this seemingly endless moment of pain.

* * *

><p>It all started with an anonymous text.<p>

_Hey, you gonna be there on Friday?_

Azimio stared at his phone for a minute. He didn't recognize the number. It wasn't in his phone. He shrugged and texted back quickly, making sure to keep it under the table where the teacher couldn't see as she rambled on about verb usage.

_Whos this?_

The response was almost immediate.

_Oh, sorry. Wrong number. Who did I text?_

Azimio shook his head, rolling his eyes. He hated spam texts from wrong numbers. All the same, he texted back.

_This is Az. Whos this?_

_Hi Az. Nice to meet you, kind of. I'm N._

Azimio raised his eyebrows at the text, typing back quickly. He wasn't really sure why he was bothering. Boredom, probably.

_N? That a code name or somethin?_

_Oh please. Like "Az" is your real name._

Azimio held back a snort of laughter.

_Nickname. Short 4 Azimio. Damn my parents._

_Hahaha. Could be worse. I go by "N" for a reason._

_Really? What's worse than Azimio?_

For a few minutes, there was no response. Shrugging, Azimio pocketed his phone and tried to tune back into the lecture. He figured the mystery texter had simply gotten bored. But then, just as class was ending, he felt a buzzing in his pocket and pulled it out to read the new message.

_Um…N stands for Natalina. Pronounced like "fatal-EENah" but with an N. Sucks._

Azimio grinned. Natalina. Totally a girl's name. Awesome.

_I dunno, it's not that bad. So, Natalina, how'd u get my #?_

And that had been the beginning of it all.

* * *

><p><em>N: So, how's life, Azimio?<em>

_Azimio: Life would suck less if English wasn't a class._

_N: That bad, huh?_

_Azimio: Ugh, u have no idea._

_N: Do too. Just with math. Hate it, so much._

_Azimio: Huh. I'm good at math I guess. Maybe we should study 2gether sometime. Where u go to school?_

_N: Elida. U?_

_Azimio: McKinley._

_N: Hey, not too far away. We could meet up 2 study sometime. How are you with geometry?_

_Azimio: I'm a master. We'll get u squared away n no time. XD_

_N: Lol!_

And for awhile, it was good like that. Just little exchanges, usually with Azimio cracking some stupid jokes that Natalina actually seemed to find funny. He didn't know this girl, had never seen her before, but she made him feel something he'd never felt before. He could really be himself with her, because there was no one to see, and because it was safe. He didn't have to care what she thought, because she was just a name, words on a screen. But the more they talked, the more he _did _care, because she liked him for who he was. He'd never had that, had never known he was missing it, and it threw the rest of his life into sharp relief.

He started to hate the way he had to act at school. He started to hate that he couldn't tell his stupid jokes to any of the Cheerios, or his teammates. Even Dave would probably laugh _at _him rather than _with _him if he knew his friend liked math, or had a stupid sense of humor, or just really wanted his dad to be proud of him. Those weren't things he could let into his daily life. He could only talk about them to Natalina.

And then one night, everything changed.

_N: So…any plans for Friday, Azimio?_

_Azimio: Nah, just hw. Y, u got some ideas? ;P_

_N: Haha, yes. I have some ideas. You like coffee?_

_Azimio: Yuk, no. But I like hot coco. Y?_

_N: Hot cocoa is good. They have it. Wanna meet at the Lima Bean for some drinks and study time? I'd like to finally meet you._

Azimio had stared at the phone for the longest time, not sure how to respond. Suddenly, he felt nervous. What if she thought he was ugly? What if she didn't like jocks? What if she was a total nerd? Or a total babe? Azimio wasn't sure he could deal with either. A second after he thought this, he felt like a jerk. He'd never let his insecurities into his conversations with Natalina before. He didn't want to start now. So he took a deep breath, pulled his courage together, and typed out a response:

_Azimio: Sure. What time?_

_N: Friday at 5. See you there! :)_

_Azimio: C u. :)_

* * *

><p>Azimio groaned and let his head sag down to his chest. He felt like crying, and he couldn't actually remember the last time he'd done that. It would have been funny if it weren't so sad. He took a deep breath, and then he splashed his face with some water before returning to his room. He stared at his phone, waiting for a text he knew was never going to come. It had all gone wrong that Friday, and he didn't know how, or why. And he couldn't get her back. The first person to see the real him, and care. The first person to let him be himself, and just listen to him. She was probably the first person he'd ever confided in, told how he really felt and what he really thought. And he'd lost her, because as much as he acted like the big man on campus at school, Azimio knew the truth: he was just another Lima loser, destined for mediocrity. Natalina had seen it, and deserted him. Of course she had.<p>

He rolled over and squeezed his eyes shut, but it was a long time before he got to sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Note: Completely unbeta'd, just as it was when it came to me on one of my many episodes of insomnia. Hope you guys enjoy. If Azimio seems a bit over the top right now, don't worry. I plan to really explain his problem as I go along. Tell me what you think, I'm a bit out of my element with this type of story and I can use all the help I can get!<strong>

**- The Raisin Girl**


	3. NOTICE: Story Has Been Discontinued

This story has officially been discontinued. This is the first story I've ever decided to do this with, and I apologize to the people who left enthusiastic reviews. I just don't have any inspiration for it anymore, and I honestly don't even really participate in the Glee fandom any longer, or watch the show. I'll still be finishing my other big Glee multichapters at some point, but this one was the least well thought out and the least well-written in my opinion, so I will not be finishing it.

If anyone wants to take this idea and run with it, you have my express permission to do so. Link me! I'd love to read it.


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